


risorgimento

by newsbypostcard



Series: A Tree Grows In Brooklyn [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6787765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Civil War spoilers] Conversations and remembrances on the way to Siberia's Hydra base.</p><p>  <i>"Get out of here, Rogers, or so help me--"</i></p><p>  <i>"I'm staying, Bucky," Steve says; then he tears his gaze away and turns back toward the lift, something painful flitting across his brow. "I'm staying. I'm with you 'til the end of the line."</i></p><p><i>It's a cheap shot. It's a cheap </i>fucking<i> shot.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	risorgimento

**Author's Note:**

> They were by themselves in a jet and then it cut to the lift in Siberia and they were just? Staring at each other? In silence? Weird.

  


  


Bucky shouldn't feel surprised that Romanov would help them -- would help _him._ But truth be told, he hasn't even gotten over his shock that _Steve_ wants to help him.

It's hard to know who the enemies are, anymore. Everything is swathed in grey.

They break into the jet. They can still hear the fighting. Bucky leads; Steve follows. This whole thing is hard to fathom.

When Bucky catches sight of the jet's controls, he is bewildered. Technology is so advanced, too advanced. "I can't fly this."

Steve shoots him a look and elbows past him, turning the seat toward him. "I can," he says; then he doesn't look back at him as he begins flipping switches. 

Bucky blinks, then settles himself in the chair set behind Steve's. "Since when can you fly a jet?"

"I've had a few years."

"Right." Bucky frowns against the annoyance rising in him. "I guess _Sam_ would know how to fly."

"Good one," Steve says blandly, and still does not look at him. "Sam didn't actually teach me."

"Isn't he Air Force?"

"Used to be. He helps people now."

Bucky nods slowly; tenses his hands against the seat as the plane rises, as they barely take off and out of Black Panther's reach.

He doesn't speak again until the jets have dulled back to a quiet cruising roar. "I see why you get along."

If Steve breathes laughter, he still doesn't turn around. "He's good people," he tells Bucky. "You should give him a break."

"He acts like you need protection."

There's a beat where Steve doesn't respond. "I guess I have a type," he says, eventually.

  


  


  


"You finally took my advice," says Bucky, after a long stretch of silence.

Steve looks to the side, but his gaze doesn't quite reach Bucky. "About what?"

"Dating."

It's something like a laugh, what drags out of Steve's throat. "I was wondering when this would come up."

"Didn't I always tell you to take an opportunity offered to you?"

"Leave it alone, Bucky."

"It never used to be like you, kissing in public like that."

"Yeah, well. It's been a while."

It's Bucky's turn to pause, here. "You done a lot of kissing since I've been out, Rogers?"

"Bucky."

Bucky smiles; gives the same ghost of a laugh that had left his friend. "I just want you to be happy."

A beat, then, gently -- "I know."

They ride a while longer in silence.

  


  


  


"So you do remember me," Steve says.

Bucky frowns; looks to the side. "Yeah. I've, uh… I've had a while, too."

"I guess you have." A beat passes. "So why'd you lie before? In the apartment?"

"We didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

"You thought you'd deepen the hole by lying?"

"I didn't know how you'd react. 'Hey, Stevie, I know I've been hiding from you and your agents for the last two years, but I'm sure it's normal that I keep your picture handy anyway. Say, how've you been?'"

"I don't have agents."

"Romanov's not your agent?"

"She's -- no."

"Well, whatever. Point stands."

"What _point_?"

"That it wouldn't have gone over well." Bucky clenches his fist and taps it against his knee; the metal hand stays still. "I just couldn't be sure."

"Sure of _what?_ "

Steve's voice is grating; it's as though everything Bucky says pushes him closer to outright anger. "Your motives."

"You can't be serious."

"It's not outrageous to think you'd be out to kill me, Steve. Not after what I did to you and yours." Bucky's gaze forces off to the side. "Not after everything I've done."

Steve has nothing to say to that. The hum of the engine seems to emulate the tension between them.

"Still doesn't explain why you lied. I told you I wasn't there to kill you."

"It doesn't matter why."

"I _asked you--_ "

Steve cuts off; looks ahead again. Bucky blinks, trying to wait him out.

"Are you pissed at me for _lying_ , or for something else?"

"You figure it out."

Bucky actually laughs -- a barking sound, foreign to him. "Reaching all the way back, huh? You haven't used that voice on me since '41."

"Haven't exactly had the opportunity."

"Steve, come on. Be straight with me."

He takes time; he thinks on how to ask it. 

"Why didn't you--"

But he still can't finish the question. That said, he doesn't need to.

"I'm doing the best I can, Steve," Bucky tells him. "I'm just doing what I know."

Steve nods and nods, and doesn't say another word.

  


  


  


"You remember everything?"

Bucky blinks himself forward again. It's been ten minutes of hard silence, only to be interrupted by the most jarring question possible. "Yeah," he says, eventually.

"Like -- _all_ of it? Even the stuff from…"

"When I'm activated?" he finishes for him.

A pause, then -- "Yeah."

Bucky looks to the side, in case Steve finally turns around. "I remember," he tells the wall. "More than I should."

"How is that -- possible?"

"While you were learning to pilot planes," Bucky says, "I was--"

What was he doing? Resurrecting himself?

Steve gets the gist. The feeling changes in the room. 

"You been by yourself?" Steve asks.

"Yeah."

"This whole time?"

"Kinda necessary."

"I thought I saw you." Steve looks forward again. "A couple times. Crowded spaces, flashes... Nothing much. Was never sure."

Bucky shakes his head. "Seems like a lot of people are seeing me where I'm not these days."

"Yeah," says Steve. "Seems like they are."

Bucky's not sure what they would do without the hum of the jet to fill the spaces.

"So you've just been -- remembering. By yourself." Steve gestures to the side; his hand hits his leg in something like defeat. "For two years."

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

Interrogation again. "What do you want me to say here, Steve?"

"I want to know _why_ \--"

Steve falls off again. Bucky wonders if he's just always at this loss for words, now, or if it's specific to him.

"Why any of it?" Bucky finishes for him.

Steve nods and nods again, as though moved to fervor by the truth of the question. "Why any of it. Buck--" his voice writhes, twists hard in his throat -- "why are we even _here_?"

Bucky has asked himself this so many times. _So_ many times. 

"I don't know," he says -- a placating thing, wrenched from the place within him where the forced acceptance he's cultivated has taken root.

"That--" Steve's voice breaks. "Sucks," he finishes, more calmly. "It all sucks."

"Yeah," Bucky agrees. "Yeah, Steve. It pretty much all does suck."

  


  


  


Steve lands the jet.

Bucky hasn't been good in planes since the war. He still prefers boats; it's a predilection that's served him well. He can lay low on a boat -- wear a hat, become invisible. He's taken a couple of planes, but he usually stuck himself in the cargo hold. It's harder when there's a window. 

Steve takes care of it -- smoothly; practiced. Bucky's hands unclench audibly once they're back on the ground.

"You're good at this," Bucky tells him.

Steve throws his gaze back to Bucky, and the two of them hold steady for a moment, before Steve gets up from his chair. 

Bucky feels like it's the first time Steve's _really_ looking at him since he showed up in his apartment. _He showed up in his apartment._ "You remembered the way I fight," he says suddenly, the words unexpected in his mouth.

Steve blinks at him. His eyes crinkle as he gives a half-smile -- the first signs of aging on an otherwise ageless man. "Yeah," Steve says lightly. "Hard to forget."

"I'm just surprised you knew to coordinate with me."

"You read me just as well."

"I guess. This a superpower thing?"

"Must be."

"Lucky us," says Bucky.

Steve's smile grows bigger and sadder at the same time. "Lucky us," he agrees, and nods toward the exit. "You ready for this?"

"Oh yeah," says Bucky. "What could go wrong?"

Steve looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "Great. Jinx it."

Bucky grabs the guns from Stark's armoury; takes his time before replying. "I'm sort of a walking jinx, here, Rogers," he says quietly, once they're both armed. "You realize you could be walking into your death here, right?"

"So -- a Monday, then."

"You don't have to do this."

"Is there an alternative? You gonna walk in there yourself?"

"That's one option."

"And if they -- activate you?"

Bucky looks up at him. "I'm guessing they will whether you're by my side or not."

"No," says Steve. "I don't think they will." 

Then he turns toward the door of the plane, leaving Bucky to swear and jog after him until they're standing together, looking out over the snow.

"You remember that time," Steve says suddenly, turning to him with a smile, "we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?" 

  


  


  


"You can turn back, you know." 

As the door slams closed behind them, Steve's voice turns over in his throat as he looks to Bucky, never slowing. "You're not gonna hurt me," he says, voice quiet.

The laugh leaves Bucky before he's aware it's happening. "Sure. Let's look at our recent track record."

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Barely."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Don't rewrite history," Bucky snaps back. "We can't just pretend like I didn't almost kill you last time we met."

"That wasn't you."

"It wasn't -- me, but I was _in there --_ are you _listening to me_?" 

Steve turns on his heel at the rise in Bucky's voice. They both stop; Bucky breathes; his voice echoes across steel. Steve frowns and presses a finger to his lips.

The echoes take their time to fade. They are motionless, eyes deadlocked. Bucky feels his face twisting into its usual snarl.

When nothing happens, they shudder only slowly into movement.

"I _am_ the soldier, Steve," Bucky mutters as they amble toward the lift. "You can't pretend like we're different people."

"They are different people."

"I committed those crimes."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"Bucky, this isn't the time--"

"Shut up and listen to me." He stops dead in his tracks again; forces Steve to stop and turn back toward him, a sigh in his lungs. "You take me down there," Bucky says, pointing to the lift, "then you're bringing _him_. There's no leaving him behind."

"I know that."

"He'd kill you in a second. He doesn't care who you are."

"I know, Bucky."

"Zemo knows that too. Zemo can activate me. Zemo _will_ activate me."

"No he won't," says Steve.

Bucky just blinks at him. " _What?_ "

Steve's breath is heavy in his chest, as though he's holding onto something he can't quite bear. "He wants to kill you," Steve tells him. "Activating you doesn't make sense. Not while I'm there."

"What, so you're worried he will if you aren't there, but not if you come with me?"

"Yeah," Steve says simply. "He can control you. He can't control me."

"So you would risk--" Bucky shakes his head; fury pounds within him. "You're being reckless. Take the jet and get the hell out of here."

"No."

"Get out of here, Rogers, or so help me--"

"I'm staying, Bucky," Steve says; then he tears his gaze away and turns back toward the lift, something painful flitting across his brow. "I'm staying. I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

It's a cheap shot. It's a cheap _fucking_ shot.

The lift doors open just as Bucky reaches him, the snarl curling out from his throat, his fists bunching against Steve's chest.

"Is this worth protecting?" Bucky seethes at him. Steve stumbles backward into the lift; his hands are clenched over Bucky's wrists. He tries to pry them away, but Bucky's too strong. It's proof of concept. It's everything Bucky is and hates. He tightens his metallic fist, just to underscore his point. "How many times are you gonna be at the wrong end of this thing before it kills you?"

"However many it takes," Steve mutters, his lip curling; and his hand tenses against Bucky's metal wrist, to reinforce his meaning. "We have always been in this thing together."

Then, slowly, Steve disengages his hands.

Bucky tenses against him, and Steve lets him; he lets Bucky push him back against the wall, hands still loose by his sides. Bucky squares his jaw. Steve softens his gaze. He blinks down at Bucky's mouth, teeth clenching with something withheld.

"What were you saying before," Steve says, his voice low, "about how I don't need protection?"

"You don't," Bucky says. He doesn't let go.

"I can help you, Bucky."

"I don't want your _help_. I never asked for it."

"What were you saying," Steve says again, "about taking an opportunity offered to you?"

Bucky blinks, confused. "What?" he asks.

Then Steve's hands clench in Bucky's uniform -- and _pull._

Bucky's breath catches in his throat when Steve's lips find his. Steve's breath is heavy; it trembles; his hands tremble, all broad-shouldered confidence sapped out of him by sudden need. He is, in this second, the kid Bucky remembers most clearly -- the person in the memories that Bucky returns to, when he's trying to remember what it's like to be James.

Bucky's hand breaks to brace at the back of Steve's head, and _holds._

There's little to be said for what it is like in Bucky's mind, most of the time. It is a practiced mixture of fury and calm, rage barely controlled and shoved under a cracking surface. The control is always obvious in his face, he knows; you can see it in the way his chin folds, in the crease of his brow. He can smile, though, now and again; it is easier around Steve, because it is easier for him to be James. But the weapon hums within him -- a beacon. He always turns back to it, or it finds a way to surge through.

Like this, kissing Steve -- Bucky can't hear it anymore.

Something breaks in his throat, and he deepens the kiss.

It's dangerous. They're idiots. To make out in the middle of a Siberian Hydra facility is definitely the stupidest thing they've ever done. But Steve's hands are growing steady, they are pulling Bucky in, and Bucky -- feels himself. He _recognizes_ himself. He feels…

It's Steve to break them apart, in the end -- who sets his forehead against Bucky's, and _breathes_.

It's five breaths after that before Bucky finds it in him to disengage.

"You're an idiot," Bucky tells him, still standing too close, when his arms are back at his sides.

Steve nods and lowers his eyes to Bucky's lips, just briefly, once again. "Yeah," he says. With a smile, he steps around him and hits the button for the floor that they need. "But it takes one to know one."

The lift doors close. Steve meets Bucky's eye. They are descending into the base.

"This doesn't change anything," says Bucky.

"I know," says Steve. His expression is unreadable. "No regrets."

Bucky shakes his head at him, but holds his peace.

"You, uh," Steve begins; they stare ever still, just a single pace apart. "You remember -- _everything_ from… before?"

Bucky nods; clenches his jaw; licks his lips to feel where Steve had left them, and swallows. "Yeah, Steve," he says, voice something too gentle. "I remember."

Steve opens his mouth, but in the end he says nothing.

The lift shudders. It hums. The soldier in him hums, under the surface.

They're still staring at each other when the doors to Hydra shamble open before them.

  



End file.
